We really wanted to know all the unknowable things about each other and how we were the same and how we were different, if we even were, maybe nobody is.

I went to the bedroom and lay on the floor, so as not to mess up the covers.

Things usually make sense in time, and even bad decisions have their own kind of correctness.

That's the artist's job, really: continually setting yourself free, and giving yourself new options and new ways of thinking about things.

I can guarantee you nothing I do is a conscious attempt to inject something in.

There's always the sense that you should strike while the iron's hot and while there are all these opportunities, but that's not the way I get ideas. It has to be more organic, building up through living and through experiencing things.

I realize that we all think we might be terrible people. But we only reveal this before we ask someone to love us. It is a kind of undressing.